


morning sunshine

by haloud



Series: open up my eager eyes [12]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, No Hurt all Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: Alex has trouble sleeping when the stress piles up on his shoulders, so Michael and Kyle focus on making mornings as good as they can.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes/Kyle Valenti
Series: open up my eager eyes [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1353715
Comments: 17
Kudos: 119





	morning sunshine

Narrowly avoiding getting kneed in the head isn’t Kyle’s _favorite_ way to wake up, but he lived in a frat house for one semester at Michigan, so he has had worse.

“Where are you going?” he says in a loud whisper, and Michael puts a finger over his lips, eyes flicking over to Alex, still sleeping like the dead. Michael is quiet as a cat as he creeps out of the room, but Kyle is less stealthy as he wiggles out from under the covers and struggles into a pair of pants.

Still, though, Alex sleeps on, half-curled, arm under the pillow, unhappy lines on his face. Kyle watches him for a long moment for any sign of waking up, torn between crawling back into bed to hold him and following Michael to see what’s up. Ultimately, though, going back to bed could be the thing that wake him up after all, and, well…he could use the sleep.

There are nights, sometimes, when Alex stays up, barricaded behind computer monitors, behind walls he’s thrown up around his own emotions. When Kyle and Michael reach out to him and he turns away, unable to accept comfort or understanding or anything. Sometimes, sometimes in the aftermath he’s feeling good enough to tell them why, to explain in the quiet dark that there are times he feels like if he isn’t doing something it means he’s complicit in all of it, in all the pain his family has caused. Sometimes it’s all that drives away the visions of Michael’s hand shattered by a hammer, Kyle’s chest bruised from a bullet, that he sees every time he closes his eyes.

So Kyle slips out into the hallway and, making sure to close the door gently behind him, follows Michael into the kitchen.

The light is on overhead, brighter than the early morning blue filtering in from the small window. Michael’s back is to the door, and Kyle is treated to the sight of him half-bending to grab the buttermilk from the door of the fridge, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a slice of warm skin at his hip. Eggs, a pack of bacon, and a carton of blueberries float around him, because putting things on the counter is so passe when you’re a telekinetic alien, apparently.

Kyle knocks on the wall to get his attention, and he glances over with a ridiculous pout on his face.

“Go back to bed,” he says. The breakfast ingredients move to hide behind his back. “No spoilers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kyle replies, walking towards him and snagging the ingredients out of the air before something gets broken.

“I’m not ridiculous, you’re ridiculous.”

“Cute.”

Michael’s pout stays fixed to his face, but he sidles up to Kyle and the counter all the same, draping an arm over his shoulders.

Kyle leans into his warm weight. “You’re doing this for Alex, right? Well, I want to help.”

“Help? Valenti, we’ve talked about this. Last time you _helped_ in the kitchen--”

“Oh come on that happened _once--”_

“Valenti, it was a _literal noodle incident._ ”

Kyle turns under Michael’s arm to glare at him. “I’m not just going to sit around while you do all the work.”

“Hey, I said you should go back to bed--”

“ _Guerin._ ” In retaliation for Michael’s childish bickering, Kyle reaches out and pinches him on the nipple, making him yelp like a puppy stung by a bee. They both go quiet, then, listening for any sound of Alex stirring from the bedroom; when there’s nothing, they both relax and relent. 

“ _Fine,_ ” Michael says. “There’s more fruit in the fridge. You can cut it up. Even you can’t fuck up fruit salad with sugar free buckwheat or whatever the fuck.”

Kyle scoffs but doesn’t argue, not _this_ time, on the merits of his very logical and health-conscious food substitution choices, and turns his focus to slicing strawberries and melon instead, while Michael tosses him a smug look over his shoulder. They work to the quiet sounds of sizzling bacon and whisking--Kyle looks up, again and again in quick little snatches in between slices, to watch Michael moving so comfortably around the kitchen, curls bouncing as he bobs his head to a song only he can hear, from his bare feet on the old tile floor to the way he looks in mismatched clothes, his own and Alex’s. Kyle’s heart swells in his chest from it.

Still, though, there’s something he’s curious about.

“Why didn’t we, like, talk about this ahead of time? You could have let me in on the plan, you know.”

Before answering, Michael slides the last piece of bacon onto the waiting plate. Kyle puts his knife aside and waits.

Michael doesn’t turn around, just shrugs and grips the edge of the counter and says, “Wanted to surprise you both, I guess. Thought maybe you’d think it was a little too cheesy otherwise. Michael Guerin’s not exactly a bed and breakfast guy, and all that.”

“Hey.” 

Kyle can’t _not_ go over to him at that, come up behind him and wrap an arm around his middle, press a kiss to the back of his shoulder. 

He continues, “It’s not _cheesy_ to want to do something nice. It’s...nice. _You’re_ nice.”

“Say nice again.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s not very n-- _oof.”_

Kyle squeezes him tight to cut off whatever needling riposte he was about to fire off, then relents, sliding his hand up Michael’s shirt to stroke his stomach. He fits his chin over Michael’s shoulder as well, runs the tip of his nose down along the cut of his jaw. He feels Michael’s cheek lift against his own, borne up by a little smile he can’t keep off his face.

“I know you know you don’t have to do stuff like this alone,” Kyle says. 

Michael replies, “Do you know that maybe I was doing this for _you_ too? You’re always going, Doc, maybe somebody wants to give you a reason to stay still and let somebody take care of you for once.”

“This _is_ me being taken care of. Doing something nice for Alex...getting to spend time one on one with you like this…”

Michael turns his head and blinks at Kyle with eyes that are wide and soft and a little wondering, like he hadn’t considered that at all. Kyle can’t help but smile his softest smile back at him.

“You’re not the only one who thinks it feels good to do things for other people,” Kyle reminds him gently, and Michael nods slowly, a little bit of pink coloring his cheeks.

He dips his head away then, and the next time he speaks his voice is gruff. “Alright, alright, Valenti, you’ve made your point. Get back to work.” 

Kyle laughs and pecks him on the cheek. “ _My_ work is done. You’re the one who’s still got work to do...because you suck at delegating, Mr. Head Chef.” 

“Well maybe if my sous chef knew how to cook anything that doesn’t involve fuckin’ kale--” Michael cuts himself off and, laughing, hip checks Kyle out of the way of the stove. Without being told, Kyle makes coffee for all three of them, and while he waits for it to finish brewing, he leans against the counter, a closer vantage point to watch Michael’s face, happy and content, as he dollops pancake batter onto the skillet.

Once they’re done, Kyle and Michael work together to get everything onto the tray, which floats ahead of them as they go back to the bedroom.

Inside the still-dark bedroom, Alex hasn’t moved a muscle. One arm is curled over his chest, his knee in front of his stomach, protecting himself even in sleep. Kyle and Michael exchange a glance, then Kyle raps gently on the doorframe and calls Alex’s name a couple times in an even, level tone.

Alex wakes up all at once, not the way he might wake up from a nightmare, but not the way anyone wakes up from untroubled sleep. His hair is ruffled like downy feathers on one side, his brow furrowed as he takes his boyfriends in.

“What’d I miss?” Alex asks, rubbing his forehead over one eye with the heel of his hand.

Michael crosses the room to him, and, sleepily, Alex lifts his arm to let him worm his way underneath it and kiss him gently, deeply, cupping the back of his neck and massaging out the tension. Alex makes a muffled sound of surprise, and Kyle laughs, his heart full and warm at the picture they make--Alex, lines from the pillow cutting across his cheek, hair unevenly mussed, collar of his t-shirt stretched and askew, and Michael stretched out across him.

Finally, Michael pulls back and Alex huffs out a laugh. He pets Michael’s cheek then shoves his face away playfully, saying, “Good morning to you, too.”

Kyle says, “You didn’t miss anything except Guerin heckling my nutritional creativity.” 

“Something does smell good,” Alex says. “You...were cooking?”

“ _I_ was cooking.”

With a fond roll of his eyes, Kyle says, “I’m so unappreciated.”

“Get over here and I’ll show you appreciation.”

Kyle scoffs, but he does cross the room to join the two of them on the bed.

“Made you breakfast,” Michael says, pressing his mouth to Alex’s shoulder again, like he has to be touching him all the time. “‘Cause you deserve nice things.”

Alex sits still for a long moment, his throat working around a swallow. His fingers seek out Kyle’s on the bedspread so he’s touching both of them, connecting them together.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s why we did it,” Michael replies.

“Getting to take care of you is, like, the ultimate perk of all this,” Kyle adds.

Saving Alex from having to answer—they can both see the flush of emotion in his face, the glassiness of his eyes—Michael brings the breakfast tray in and settles it on the side table. It takes all three of them to make it through the feast Michael came up with, delicious for all it’s gone a little cold while they were talking. Kyle barely notices the taste, preoccupied with grinning and watching Alex feed Michael chunks of fruit, concentrating on the stickiness of syrup that gets on his fingers, and on the happiness deep in his chest.


End file.
